The Words of a Slasher
by DarkShadowsFalling
Summary: I wanted to write a story from Jason's point of view. As he really can't speak, I decided to hand him some paper and a pen. This is what came of it. VIOLENCE is mentioned along with some disturbing themes.


In The Words of a Slasher

*A "Friday the 13th" Fan Fiction. I don't own any of the characters, no matter how much I love them. Jason, his mother, his family and the hundreds of people who've lost their lives for the sake of our entertainment belong to Victor Miller and Sean S. Cunningham. Written because I thought Jason needed a chance to speak*

Blood. It's my life. I swim in a Crystal Lake of blood…The coppery smell of the sanguine fluid hangs about me like macabre cologne. But it's the smell I associate with my home and my existence.

I barely remember the time before everything fell apart. I dimly remember living with my mother and father in our home just outside Crystal Lake. I also barely remember my sister, who loved me and treated me kindly. She had dark hair and dark eyes. I remember that. I always thought she was beautiful.

And then came the summer that my life changed…and my mother began to lose her sanity. Our family had been friends with the Christies who owned Camp Crystal Lake. Times were hard because of my condition. I wasn't smart or fast and had been born a Mongoloid. Today, that would be Downs Syndrome. Only my case was very severe.

My father, Elias, worked hard to keep our family afloat. Our home was an old family home, but we were finding it hard to pay bills and buy groceries. My sister was growing fast, and required things that my parents just couldn't afford. Diana was miserable and I felt bad for her.

But my mother managed to get a job as the cook at Camp Crystal Lake. It paid well and it was something she enjoyed doing. She loved children and loved when the food she made made them happy. And of course, I was given the chance to go to camp, something that would have been out of the question if my mother had not been there. Retarded kids simply didn't go to regular camp. It was just a harsh fact.

For the first part of the summer, everything was fun for me. I was called names, certainly, but I had a few friends. I excelled in archery and weaponry. But I never got very far in swimming. I was a big boy even for being 9 years old at the time. I stood at about 5 feet, which was really very tall for a kid my age and I had a lot of body mass. I suppose that was a reason why I was teased.

But the main reason was my face. It's disfigured, not perfect by human standards. And the other kids could be very cruel. However, Mother said never to blame them for their cruelty and so I didn't. I have always done as my mother says. She is the only one who stayed with me…after.

Ah, but I get a bit ahead of myself. I do that sometimes. My thoughts can be really jumbled. I don't always stay on the same track.

The day that Hell began to descend on Camp Crystal Lake had started as any other. We kids had gotten up, had breakfast, and were enjoying our usual activities. As was normal, the other kids teased me about not being able to swim and pushed me around a little bit, towards the water. I wasn't too scared, really. The counselors always stopped them before anything happened so I never felt I was in danger.

But this time, the counselors weren't anywhere in sight and I was getting close to the lake. Terror began to fill me and I tried to speak, but couldn't. I tried to yell for my mother, but no sound came from me. I was struck mute with fear.

I soon found myself on the pier with nowhere to run. I was completely surrounded by yelling and jeering kids and I couldn't get away from them. One of the boys rushed me fast and pushed me backwards.

It was as though I was moving in slow motion. I lost my footing on the old wood and felt myself falling…falling…falling. It seemed as though I would never stop falling. But I hit the water and went under, further and further from the surface. I kicked out and tried to move, managing to break upwards, gasping and crying in terror.

The other kids were laughing and I could hear them say that I could swim, I was just lying. But I couldn't! Couldn't you see that I wasn't able to help myself?! How cruel can you really be?!

I kicked out and swallowed water again and again as I flailed around. I could feel the lake water filling my lungs. I couldn't breathe. It was torture. But no one was helping me. No one was coming after me.

In that infinite moment between life and death, I could see death very clearly. I was losing consciousness and it seemed that there was a dark figure coming for me, holding out a skeletal hand. I could hear my name being called and I closed my eyes, not wanting to see this creature coming after me.

I was grabbed around the waist and I opened my mouth to scream, receiving another mouthful of water. I choked hard and sank further…and then everything went black.

I suppose that's where the story should have ended. Anyone other than me WOULD have drowned. But I survived.

When I woke, I was in a clean white room and everything was dry. My mother sat next to my bed, head in her hands, crying silently. It broke my heart to see her so upset and I reached out and touched her hand.

Her head jerked up and she let out a sob of relief, wrapping me in a tight hug, mumbling in my ear, "Jason…Jason, my baby boy…Thank God…Thank God you're alive! They said you might not…" Her voice faltered as though she'd rather not think about what they had said. "But you did…You're with me still…Jason…"

My mother's hug was comforting and I held her tightly. I found myself calm, but in retrospect, I suppose they had me drugged. As a Mongoloid in those days, they probably feared I would lash out in my sleep and hurt someone. I might have, too…I can't really say.

Over the next few days, my father and sister visited me several times. My mother never left my side. I could tell she wasn't sleeping and she and my father kept fighting. I heard one conversation that still angers me to this day. My father called my mother unhinged and crazy. It was true that her laughter had become hysterical and when she spoke about the counselors who had disappeared when they should have been watching us, there was such malice in her voice that it made me shiver. But he never understood…He never knew why my mother felt as strongly as she did about me.

She confided to me many years later that she'd had a brother who was also a Mongoloid. He was born with many of the same deformities I was and was slower. Their parents, my grandparents, treated the boy very badly and eventually ended up killing him by drowning him in the bathtub when he was only 5 years old. And neither had shed a tear at the funeral. My mother told me they were happy to be rid of "that creature that had been nothing but trouble".

When I was born, my mother had panicked internally that she might be like her parents. But she said that the moment she saw my face, she loved me completely and it never entered her mind to harm me. And so she was very angry that the counselors had been neglectful and had been off making love instead of watching out for us kids. She nearly lost me the same way she'd lost her brother and it tore her apart to think about it.

And so a year later, when the two bodies of the guilty counselors turned up, completely hacked and maimed, everyone knew it was my mother. But they had no proof. I knew it was her, but I didn't even have the proof. She did quit after that summer, however, and didn't return to work at Camp Crystal Lake ever again.

She told everyone I had died, and perhaps that was the last straw between her and my father. He didn't understand at all. He couldn't understand why she would tell everyone that the son she loved more than anything else had died. He felt she was trying to make everyone pity her. When they finally separated, he took my sister and left, leaving me with my "unbalanced" mother.

I agreed with my mother's lie. I had died. Whatever compassion had lain within me had drowned that day in the lake. I became quieter than I had been before and only nodded or shook my head to answer questions. I probably didn't help my mother's mental state, but I didn't have the energy or the life within me anymore to be more than that.

Years passed. I grew to be a very tall, bulky man. I trained myself hard with weapons and exercise because my mother was getting elderly. And with each new opening of Camp Crystal Lake, her sanity slipped further away and her murderous methods became sloppier. I knew one day I would take over where she left off. But perhaps I had always thought that my mother would be there, watching over me, praising me for each kill I made.

I never thought I would lose her when I did.

It was Friday the 13th, 1980…A new set of counselors had come in. They were all no-good young people, only interested in drinking, drugs, and, of course, sex. My mother called it sinning. I agreed with her.

As the night wore on, she picked them off one by one. I had to admit that she had such prowess when she was hunting. She became something unearthly, like Diana, the Goddess of the Hunt. I was in awe of her and watched from the sidelines.

Finally, there was only one left. A woman with short, brown-blonde hair. She had put up the best fight so far against my mother. She'd managed to knock her out several times and get away. The game of cat and mouse took them to the edge of the lake.

I could tell my mother was losing it. She started speaking as though I was talking through her. She'd done this for a long time, since I'd stopped speaking. I could hear her words from where I stood across the lake.

"Kill her, Mommy…kill her…Don't let the bad girl get away…" Her voice would be childlike, higher in tone. And then she'd switch to her lower voice. "I will, Jason…Don't worry, I will…"

It chilled me when she did this. Maybe because I was often thinking such things. Perhaps she knew exactly what I was saying in my mind and voiced them for me. I will never know.

The girl was completely terrified and they scrabbled on the beach. My mother had grabbed a machete at one point during the pursuit and dropped it in the sand. The girl took it up and ran at my mother.

I knew what was going to happen long before it happened. But nothing could stop the shock and horror that rushed through my giant frame as I watched that bitch slice my mother's head off. I watched her head go flying and her body convulse as it went down.

Her hands clenched and unclenched as though trying to figure out what had happened. Blood spurted from the severed arteries and painted the sand crimson as the dead weight crumbled to the ground and then lay still.

I sunk down to my knees, tears pouring from my eyes. My mother…the only person who had loved me completely, the only person who had ever given a damn what happened to me, was dead. I was completely alone in the world.

I watched the girl, now in shock, get into a canoe and float away. I really didn't care at that very moment what happened to her. I had to get to my mother's body.

I made my way around the lake, knowing I had to get there. But I really didn't want to. I didn't want to behold the proof that my beloved mother no longer lived. It was tearing at me and eating at my soul.

Was this how she had felt in those moments where they thought I had drowned? Did she feel this utter solitude and grief? She must have…I was so much like her, she must have felt exactly this…

I reached the body and dropped down next to it. She was certainly dead. That was not an injury one could survive. The head had been cleanly severed and not a breath stirred from beneath the blue-gray sweater she wore.

I howled in pain, the first sound I had made in years. It was animalistic, primal. There was roughness in my voice, unused as it was. I screamed and howled, picking up her head and cradling it to my chest. It was many minutes before coherent thought came back to me and I moved.

I stood up, her head tucked under my arm. I picked up the bloody machete and stared at it, thinking back to earlier in the evening before my mother had gone on the hunt.

She had turned to me and cupped my face in her hands. "Jason…my special, special boy. There may come a time where I will not be here to do this anymore…Where I won't be able to punish the bad counselors for what they did to you. If this happens, my darling…I want you to kill for me. Kill for Mommy…Will you do that for me, Jason, darling?"

Her voice had been almost desperate. I touched one of her hands lightly and nodded. Of course, I would. I would do anything for her.

Now, standing in the aftermath of my mother's morbid prediction come true, I realized that I had a job. I had a duty to my mother. I had to kill. And I would keep killing until she told me to stop. She always told me to do a repetitive task until the person who ordered me to do it told me to stop. The same would be for her. Until my mother stood before me again and told me to stop…no one at Camp Crystal Lake would be safe.

I followed the canoe the girl was in upstream and stared at her from behind the trees. I dared not make a move to her. There were a lot of people on the other side of the trees across from me and I knew that I couldn't kill them all in broad daylight.

But I wanted to terrify her somehow. I wanted her to understand that she would not be safe now that she'd murdered my mother. I would never let her rest.

I had not talked for years. But I had been honing my mental skills as well as my physical skills so I could somewhat communicate. Now was a time to put it to use.

I concentrated on the water below the canoe. I watched her lift her head to signal the police officers who had spotted her.

Just as she sat up completely, I pounced. I created a decaying, deceased image of myself as a child at the age I had "drowned" and made it leap up and grab her, pulling her into the water and turning the canoe over. Her terrified scream was the most satisfying thing I had ever heard.

But I hadn't intended to kill her then, so when she was completely underwater, the image vanished. She was rescued by the police officers who had seen nothing of my mirage and was quickly carted away to the hospital.

I followed her. I waited in the forested area surrounding the hospital while she stayed there, recovering mentally as well as physically. She told people about the boy that had leapt out of the water and grabbed her, but no one believed her. There was not a mark on her and they had combed the water for the phantom child many times. Ah, it was a good position for her to be in, on the brink of possible insanity.

But they finally released her. She seemed to be all right other than a few anxiety attacks. She herself had begun to think that she'd imagined the child and that the canoe had simply tipped over because she'd leaned back too far. That was fine with me, really.

She went back to the small apartment she'd been living in and was planning to go back to see her parents soon. I couldn't allow that. I waited and watched until I knew for certain when she was planning on leaving. I would strike before she had the chance.

She was already fairly jumpy, so getting her worked up was easy enough. I opened her window in the kitchen and stood in the shadows as she came in, ice pick in hand. She made her way to the window and jumped out of her skin when her cat jumped through it.

She decided she was just imagining things and asked the cat if it was hungry. Silly really…The cat couldn't answer. But human beings are foolish enough to ask dumb animals such things.

She opened her refrigerator door…and screamed. There, sitting on her top shelf, for good measure, was my mother's shriveling, decaying head. I had set it there earlier when she'd been showering.

She backed up, absolutely terrified. She backed right into me. I covered her mouth with my large hand, ultimately sealing off any sounds of struggle and grabbed the ice pick she'd armed herself with earlier and foolishly had set down. In one easy movement, I jammed it into the right side of her head, deep into her brain, killing her relatively quickly, but with a bit of excruciating pain first. Blood poured from the wound and down her shoulder.

I will confess…the sight of blood for me is almost erotic. Just like normal men like to look at a woman's breasts or women like to ogle a man's ass, I love to watch blood pour. It excites me and gets my own blood pumping. I really found this out when I killed her.

I threw her limp body over my shoulder and left the house, feeling my pulse race. I wanted to kill more; I wanted to see more blood. I knew that the only way for that to happen would be to let people come to Camp Crystal Lake.

And so I do. Unlike my mother, who took measures to keep ANYONE away, like poisoning the lake water, I let them come. If they wander across my path or I theirs, death comes swiftly. And I always do my best to make sure it's good and bloody.

Women bleed better than men and I take much more delight in killing them. I suppose it's because a woman's instinct is to run and it gets their heart pumping, causing the red ambrosia to course through their veins faster and with more heat.

I myself have evolved a little. I knew I had to hide my face and first covered it with a potato sack. And then I found the hockey mask. The hockey mask that made me think of my childhood and of dreams never fulfilled. I donned the mask and never looked back.

Despite the countless deaths, there are still stupid teenagers who keep coming back. They all think it's just a legend, no matter the body count, and decide to camp in my woods. And they soon learn that I am no legend.

I am Jason Voorhees, the killer of Camp Crystal Lake AKA Camp Blood. As long as people continue to come into my territory, there will be gore and death. I have proved time and again that I cannot be killed. I am unstoppable. Mother, I hope I have done you proud. I have soaked our name in blood.


End file.
